


Married

by thinkwinkink



Category: When Calls the Heart (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cute, Established Relationship, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Married Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 05:23:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19078336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkwinkink/pseuds/thinkwinkink
Summary: Glimpse into the first few days of Jack and Elizabeth's marriage (based on up to s4 only).Elizabeth has to take the initiative.





	Married

**Author's Note:**

> Having only seen the first four series, my imagining of what might happen once Jack and Elizabeth get married.

Elizabeth took a deep breath to calm her nerves. She had undressed and made sure her nightdress was smooth and the ties tied perfectly evenly. She was ready.

She slowly pushed open the door to her bedroom. Their bedroom. Now that they were married, they would both sleep here, together, until the house he wanted to build was finished. 

Jack stood by the bed, completely absorbed by fiddling with his sleeve. Elizabeth knew what men's pyjamas looked like. She'd seen her father dressed for bed, if nothing else, but it was surprisingly jarring to see Jack so stripped down. Vulnerable, in a way. No suspenders, no shoes, no belt or gun or shiny epaulettes. 

He stood in the little bedroom of the row house in simple drawstring pants made of dark blue cotton, and a white undershirt that clung to the shape of him. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised he didn't don the button-down shirt, with the loose-cut lapels and monogrammed breast pocket her father did. 

She stood there in the doorway, taking him in. Broad shoulders and strong arms, the curve of his spine that was normally obscured by thick layers revealed to her eyes. His posture was straight, but there was a kind of private elegance to his body that she had never observed before. 

“What are you thinking?” he asked, drawing her out of her reverie. 

She had simply been staring at him for a while, and he stared back a little dubiously.

She walked into the room properly, shutting the door behind her. 

“Just trying to picture you with monogrammed pyjamas,” she said lightly. 

He laughed. “Why anyone would spend the time embroidering their own name on the outside of their clothes is a mystery,” he said, shaking his head. 

“Perhaps it's to prevent losing them,” she suggested as she approached.

“I don't see a name on yours,” he pointed out. “How many times have you confused them with someone else's?”

She stepped into the circle of his arms, revelling in the closeness and the added intimacy without her corset and a hundred layers of lace and wool and cotton between them. The hand on her back was so warm and present she just wanted to sigh and pull him closer. 

“Not many,” she conceded. 

He hummed as if to say ‘there you go’ but said nothing further. 

She smiled up at him, the angle steeper without her customary heels, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

He bent obligingly and she kissed him. His lips were soft and smooth, as always, and gentle. A far cry from amorous. He had kissed her passionately before, on multiple occasions, but this kiss had a languid quality to it. The slow suction against her bottom lip, the heavy slide of his palm up her spine, the almost tortuous pace of everything he did. 

She supposed that this was how he would kiss her now that they were married. No rush, no need to be brief, because they could take all the time in the world. They could stand in this room and kiss until dawn if they liked. No one was going to walk in and be scandalised. It was utter luxury. 

Nevertheless, the warm feeling of pressing against him with only one layer shielding her skin was building a kind of agitation in her. She knew, in a sense, what they were to do, as a married couple in bed. There were books on this, slim volumes one had send away for, rather than buy in a regular bookshop. Little books for married women who wanted to plan the growth of their family with greater efficacy than counting the days of the month could provide. 

Yet, this was completely uncharted territory for her, and presumably Jack, and she didn't know what to do or what to expect. 

She did know that she wanted to be closer, to be touched with more passion.

She dragged her teeth over his lip, and his hold on her tightened, fingers digging into her back. 

She pulled back to speak. 

“Shall we go to bed?” she said. He looked surprised, blinking in bemusement.

“Uh, sure,” he agreed, offering a gentle smile. He pulled out of her hold and walked to the bed.

She went to the other side and they pulled back the covers to slide in. Jack turned out the lamp on the bedside table by him, and she followed suit. 

Darkness weighed on her like something physical. She wasn't sure what to do from this point. 

Rustling beside her, and he was lying down. She followed his lead, but then they were both silent and rigid in the dark, and that was worse. 

Elizabeth drew breath to speak, but for once, didn't have anything to say. She had never been so uneasy in his presence. 

“I haven't shared a bed with anyone else since I was tiny,” he commented.

She let out a quiet laugh. 

“I can't really say the same,” she said. “Julie made me sleep with her every time she had a bad dream or a fight with a friend.”

He shifted slightly to face her, though there was no way he could see much of her. 

“Until when?” he asked 

“A few years ago,” she shrugged. He laughed, and it shook the bed lightly. 

After a moment, he spoke. “Good night, Elizabeth,” he whispered.

“Good night, Jack,” she replied. 

She listened to his breathing until it grew even and slow with sleep. She frowned into the darkness. This wasn't what she has expected, and she didn't understand why he suddenly seemed bent on being so demure now that they were married. 

She drifted off eventually, determined to delve into her investigation the next day. 

+++

The sun coming in around the curtains eventually roused Elizabeth, and she rolled until she was face-down on the bed, eyes shielded from the light by the pillow. 

Inhaling, her consciousness was invaded by an unexpected scent. The smell of soap and wood that made her think of Jack. 

Jack. Her husband.

She flipped back over and sat upright. There was no sign of him. 

A second survey of the room revealed that that was not entirely true. His sleeping clothes hung over the back of a chair, and a few things sat on top of the dresser that didn't belong to her. A button, a comb, a set of men's braces. 

The clock she kept by the bed said it was nine o’clock. Hardly the latest sleep-in she'd ever had, but she supposed he might be an early riser. She was surprised to think she didn't really know. 

She got up and dressed, pinning her curls into a rather simple chignon, heading downstairs in search of Jack. 

She came to a halt halfway down the stairs. She stared. 

Jack stood at the stove, flipping a pancake with complete concentration. He was in brown trousers and a plaid button-down, suspenders hanging down from his waistband and sleeves rolled up. 

His hair wasn't combed back, hanging down in front of his forehead as he worked. The tip of his tongue stuck out in concentration as he flipped another pancake. 

“Good morning,” she said, descending the remaining stairs. 

He looked up, gracing her with a winning smile. 

“Good morning, my darling wife,” he said, his voice containing a hint of cheek. 

She brushed a kiss against his mouth before peeking into the pan. 

“Why are you good at that?” she grumbled. “And why am I only finding out about this now?”

“Well, I figure you can't have secrets from your wife,” he laughed. “You have to be able to feed yourself when you're on the road, so I know the basics. I'm no Abigail Stanton.”

She watched him slide the golden cakes onto the waiting piles at his elbow and hand her a plate.

As they ate and talked, she watched him. The hair hanging forward that danced mesmerisingly as he spoke, his rueful laughter, the fluffy texture of the breakfast he had made her, it was all so… soft. Being with him was in so many ways how she had fantasised as a child, marrying her Prince Charming. The castle and balls and the details were never what mattered, but the way his eyes trailed the movement of her skirts when she carried plates to the sink, the feeling of his hands on her hips when he caught her for a kiss, his breath against her cheek as he whispered ‘I love you’ in her ear… It was better than she ever imagined. 

+++

Jack headed out in the early afternoon to do a quick circuit of the town, and Elizabeth took the opportunity to dig out her books on married life from their spot at the bottom of a trunk of formal wear. 

She settled into the sofa with a cup of tea to comb through them for any hint as to how to go about the whole thing. Unfortunately, they mostly focussed on the technical aspect and contraception. 

When Jack walked through the front door, she rushed to sit on top of them, a book about Roman architecture already open beside her as a prop.

He noticed, and paused, giving her an odd look. She simply returned his gaze as serenely as anything. 

“Do I want to know?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he came to sit by her. 

“I don't know what you mean,” she sniffed, turning the page of her history book. 

“Mm hmm,” he hummed sceptically. “I suppose some secrets are permissible.”

“Under certain circumstances,” she allowed without looking up at him. 

“That you're the one keeping them?” he said. He didn't sound bothered, though.

He was giving her a cheeky smile, and she smiled back. 

He ended up stretched out along the couch, one foot on the floor, the other dangling off the end, and his head in her lap. The picture of relaxation. It was something so sweet and new to see him so casual. 

When they got up to start preparing dinner - he helped by peeling vegetables - she held the books behind her back and ran up the stairs to stash them in their bedroom. 

Jack made a half-hearted attempt to get a look, but let her have her secrets with a good-humoured laugh. 

+++

That night, when she came into the bedroom, Jack was folding the clothes he had worn during the day. He smiled at her as she entered, padding across the floor to join her in bed as soon as he finished. 

He turned out the light promptly, lying neatly beside her as he had done the night before. 

The way Elizabeth saw things, since they had gone to the trouble of getting married, and since she liked to be close to the man she loved, and since they were lying here in the dark, they ought to make the most of it. 

Besides, it wasn't the most generously proportioned bed; keeping from touching was downright ridiculous. 

On the other hand, they had set a precedent, now, of being civil and contained in this most intimate space. It was frustratingly at odds with the way their relationship normally was. 

Two weeks ago, he had held her against the wall of the saloon and kissed her wildly, chest pressed to hers and tongue in her mouth. (After dark and around the back where no one was likely to see, of course.) This afternoon he had shivered when she skated her fingernails down his back as he kissed her goodbye. 

He was different at bedtime. She didn't understand it, and she didn't particularly care for it. 

She sighed and rolled over. A minute later, she shifted again. Then again.

“Are you okay, there?” he murmured, but she could hear the amusement in his voice. 

“I'm used to having more space,” she said dryly, not quite what she was thinking, but related. 

“Sorry,” he said. 

“Oh, no, don't be,” she rushed. “I just… don't want to crowd you.”

Closer to the truth. 

“Crowd me?”

“It's a small bed, and you take up a lot of room,” she defended. “And so do I, I suppose. If you don't want me to touch you, it's not exactly-”

“I never said that,” he interrupted.

“Pardon?”

“I don't need us to maintain a minimum distance, Elizabeth,” he laughed quietly. He sounded as though he was baffled as to why she would even suggest it. 

“Oh,” she said. “Good.”

“Come here,” he said, rustling and reaching for her. He put an arm around her waist and dragged her into his side. She rested her head on his shoulder and an arm across his chest. 

She sighed, and he rubbed his cheek against her head in satisfaction. He was so warm, and the feeling of his perfectly even breaths lulled her to sleep.

+++

Elizabeth woke earlier the next morning, Jack's side of the bed empty again but still warm. 

She rose, stretching, and made for the other bedroom she used as a dressing room. Her Hamilton bedroom had been thrice the size of the ones in this house, and now that she had the space, she took advantage of it.

The door was ajar, and she paused with a hand raised to push it open. 

Jack stood at the large mirror in the corner, neck craned as he carefully dragged the razor across his skin. He hadn't finished dressing yet, trousers in place but his shirt nowhere to be seen. She was transfixed by the sight of him, so much skin she had never seen before. His forearms she knew, but his broad back and shoulders, the outline of his ribs showing through muscle as he let out a deep breath… They were novel, to say the least. 

He tapped the blade against the basin he had sat on the vanity beside him, and she watched the way he moved with keen interest. Scientific curiosity mingled with her much more personal interest in him. She might normally have felt bad about what could be labelled spying, but what was a little voyeurism between spouses?

She wondered how he would react if she walked up to him and tried to kiss him as they were now. She in her nightgown, he half naked. Until recently, she would have imagined a very different response to what she did now. Would he be prudish like he was when the sun went down, or eager like he was when they were clothed and downstairs?

She had almost resolved to go in as soon as he put the blade down, but he turned towards the door and she ducked out of view on instinct, stealing back to their bedroom. She berated herself for her cowardice as she sat on the bed, arms crossed, until she heard him go downstairs.

She dressed, she kissed him good morning, she ate the eggs he scrambled with a complaint that they were better than the scrambled eggs she had made herself a week ago. 

They would go riding later, eat lunch at Abigail’s, stop in at the mercantile. 

But all the while, in the back of her mind, she was thinking up a way to solve her little problem. He had given her a hundred deep kisses that built up her desire for more, but now seemed to have no real inclination to follow through. 

Attending parties full of flirtatious socialites was its own kind of education, and she was finally going to need a lesson she had never thought she would have to put into practice. 

Seduction. 

+++

After slipping into her nightdress, Elizabeth brushed and twisted and pulled at her hair for a good fifteen minutes, making sure it looked right. Down, of course, natural, but sitting perfectly. 

She ran her eyes over her reflection in the full-length mirror. Everything was in order. She had a blush across her cheeks, but it wasn't too bad. It would have to do. 

When she came into the bedroom, Jack was sitting up in bed, reading. She sat on top of the covers, legs folded up, clearly not ready for him to turn out the lights yet. 

He looked up, smiled, and then returned to reading. 

“What are you reading?” she asked. Starting off casually. Solid technique. 

“One of your books,” he answered. “About the French navy. It's good.”

She nodded, but didn't know what to say. It wasn't too boring to discuss, but she didn't want to get bogged down in conversation when she was trying to steer the interaction in a different direction. 

She resolved on simply kissing him, but the logistics seemed awkward. Should she shuffle forward? Take the book? Should she ask him to put it away and pay her attention?

He went back to reading, completely insensitive to her struggles. 

That annoyed her enough to give up on worrying. She rose to her knees, leaning over the open book to place her hands on the mattress either side of him, and press her lips to his. 

He was surprised, but kissed her back.

After a while, she sat back. She looked at him, he looked at her. 

His expression was carefully neutral. Then he smiled politely, and turned back to his book. 

She resisted the urge to hit her head against the wall. Or maybe hit his head against the wall. 

Who ever heard of a man so recently married being so disinterested in bedding his wife? More than that, who remained thus when she clearly wanted to be bedded? 

She forced herself to stay calm. Outwardly. 

She got under the covers. She echoed his goodnight. She curled into his side when he lay down. 

She wondered what on Earth was going on in his head. 

+++

The third morning Elizabeth woke up as a married woman, her husband was still there. 

She lay on her side, facing away from him, with him tucked up behind her, arm around her waist to hold her close. 

She smiled, loving the feeling of being in love. She snuggled back into his chest, grinniing as his arm tightened around her. 

He breathed in deeply, mumbling something nonsensical and pushing his face into her hair. She giggled quietly.

He groaned and rolled away from her. A moment later he was sitting up and pulling back the covers. 

She rolled to face him, grabbing his wrist to keep him with her. 

“No ‘good morning?’” she complained, raising an eyebrow. 

He threw her a smile. 

“Good morning,” he said in an exaggerated drawl, mimicking the unison tone used by her students. 

Not satisfied, she sat up to steal a kiss. 

“Good morning,” she murmured.

He returned her gaze for a moment but then moved to leave again. 

“Jack,” she sighed, and her tone was serious enough that he stopped and looked at her. “We need to address something.”

“What’s wrong?” he frowned.

She looked around the room in discomfort. She had to resign herself to the conversation being incredibly awkward, she supposed. There was really no way around it. 

“I'm… concerned… about our, er, sleeping habits,” she said, hoping he would read between the lines. 

No such luck. 

“What about them?” he asked, nonplussed. 

“That we don't behave as married couples should,” she ground out, giving him a pointed look. 

He narrowed his eyes, as though he suspected he knew what she meant, but wasn't sure. 

She threw her hands up in the air. 

“I am talking about lying together as man and wife, not literally sleeping,” she snapped. 

“We can do, or not do, whatever we want,” he said slowly. “We don't have to do... that sort of thing… today, or tomorrow, or at all. Not if we don't want to.”

She opened her mouth to speak, and then shut it again. Her voice was much quieter when she spoke again. 

“So you don't want to,” she surmised, looking away.

“It's not that, believe me,” he laughed exasperatedly. “I've heard it can be uncomfortable or unpleasant for wives, and there's nothing in the world that I want badly enough, that I would be willing to hurt you to get it.”

He brushed her cheek with his fingers as he spoke, and she met his earnest gaze as he leant closer to emphasise his sentiment. 

“I love you, Elizabeth,” he said. “And I didn't marry you because I feel lust for you. I'm not saying that I don't, but I just mean that being close to you is more than I could ask for.”

She looked at him thoughtfully. They were both blushing, but in for a penny, in for a pound. 

“You don't seem very lustful,” she mumbled. 

“I didn't want you to think I expected anything from you,” he defended. 

She lifted her chin. “And what about what I expected?” she challenged.

He blinked, and then laughed. “I guess I was banking on you saying something if it bothered you,” he said. “You always do, in the end.”

She smiled at that, and he smirked too. 

Sliding closer to him on the mattress, she took his face in her hands. 

“I wouldn't ask for anything you don't want to give, but... Know that I want to be with you, too,” she confessed. “I want to be close to you. As close as possible.”

His eyes were dark as they bored into hers. Assessing. Weighing up what to do with her words. 

She decided to take the lead. 

She pressed her mouth to his, drawing his lower lip between her own. He responded hungrily, hands sliding over her ribs and pushing closer and he ran the tip of his tongue along her lips. 

She smiled into their kiss. This was the kind of passion she was used to. Already her body felt warm and wide awake in the way Jack’s touch only ever made it.

He tugged her closer, but they couldn't press together like they normally did standing up. If he was prepared to leave it at that, that made one of them.

Elizabeth took the initiative, swinging one leg over his, so that she sat on his lap the way one sat on a horse. 

“Is this okay?” she asked, eyeing his shocked expression.

“Completely,” he grinned, leaning up to kiss her again. 

She wriggled closer, straddling him right at the top of his thighs. It felt quite unladylike, pushing her legs wider in order to press down into his lap, but the drive to get closer compelled her to. Besides, she was far too distracted by the motion of his tongue against hers and his hand trailing down her side, over her hip and down her thigh to put all that much thought into it. 

Jack's reaction, though, made an impression. He jerked in surprise, breaking the seal of their lips to stare at her. 

He panted slightly, looking like he wanted her closer and to push her away at the same time.

She pressed her chest against his, her weight pushing her down onto him. The solid mass against which the juncture of her legs rested caused a flutter of desire in her belly. She wiggled, intentionally rubbing against him, and he made a noise, clutching at her. She exhaled a laugh, and did it again. 

Jack actually groaned, grabbing her hips and moving his own to increase the friction.

He liked it too, then. 

He pushed up into her, a rolling motion that made her quiver, and sucked at the side of her throat. 

“Elizabeth,” he mumbled in a tone she had never heard before. He sounded out of focus, not sleepy, but preoccupied and needy in the careless way he pronounced the syllables against her neck. 

“Yes,” she whispered back. It was an answer and a question and neither. It meant nothing, yet carried some indescribable weight. 

He pressed into her delicate skin with his teeth and fisted a hand in the fabric of her nightdress.

She pulled at his shirt in response, the thin knit soft against her fingertips but offensive to her all the same for coming between her and more of Jack's skin. 

He pulled back, looking into her eyes as if for guidance. She gave another tug, and he raised his arms to let her strip the shirt off him. She tossed it aside to run her hands down the warm curve of his spine, making him shiver and push more desperately against her mouth. She pushed herself harder into his lap, squirming slightly, and he made a low noise in his throat. She repeated the motion, and his hands tightened against her legs.

Encouraged by her response, he slid his hand under the hem of her dress, running up the back of her calf, then the side of her knee and thigh. She shivered in his hold, the sensation of his touch unfamiliar but very welcome. 

They continued their push and pull, the bold slide of mouths and more tentative glide of fingers on skin, until Jack broke their kiss with a desperate sound in his throat. 

He pushed Elizabeth off his lap, following her to lie with her open legs around his waist. She smiled, the warm weight of him pleasant, almost soothing, with his arm beside her head keeping him from squashing her. 

He used the greater leverage afforded by this new position to roll his hips into hers with far greater effect, making a shaky noise of surprise leave her throat. 

He chuckled against her neck and pressed into her once again, eliciting a sound between a sigh and something more verbal from her. 

She dug her fingers into his hair and pulled him back to her lips, a primal need to kiss him almost overflowing. There was a peculiar kind of excess energy, of frustration, building. She needed something more, but she wasn't sure how to get it. She raked her fingers down his back in response to the forceful way he ground his hard body against her. 

He hooked a hand under her knee, nudging it into a steeper angle, and then sliding toward her hip. His touch made hot tingles dance on her skin as his fingers and then palm reached the top of her leg. Under her dress, under her bloomers - how scandalous. Yet, she only wished he would touch her more. 

“Take it off,” she gasped. 

“What?” he mumbled against her jaw, dragging his weight against her in a way that made her forget her purpose for a moment. 

“The nightgown,” she urged, pulling at her neckline impatiently for emphasis.

“Right,” he grinned, flashing her the same dashing smile that always earnt him a kiss. He backed away from her and she sat up, letting him take the hem in careful hands and pull it up over her head. 

In only her drawers, she felt terribly exposed. She wished he would stop staring and press against her again so that she couldn't be seen. 

For what it was worth, he seemed to be pleased by what he saw. 

“You're so beautiful, Elizabeth,” he murmured.

“Come here,” she said, beckoning. 

He came with a faintly dazed expression. Almost awed. 

He slid closer, and followed as she lay back down. His hands swept up her body, warm and delicious. The press of his naked chest against hers was heady, the intimate press of their bodies, the friction as he started moving again. 

She dragged her hand down his undulating spine, letting it trail over his rear, her nails pressing lightly into his flesh. He hummed in pleasure, and she repeated the motion.

“Maybe you should remove your trousers, too,” she prompted. 

“Definitely,” he conceded, rolling off her to pull the bow loose and slide them down his legs, leaving him in only cotton drawers. Intriguingly, though the front of his trousers was normally fairly flat, he was currently sporting a significant protrusion. 

She let out a thoughtful hum, eyeing him thoughtfully. 

“Elizabeth,” he protested bashfully at her analytical gaze. 

She met his gaze and smiled widely, before straddling him again. She made sure to employ an exaggerated motion and press firmly against the hard mass in his drawers, seeking her own satisfaction and his. Based on the sounds he was making and the way he clutched at her, she was succeeding. 

"We should take these off, too," he gasped. 

She smiled with an air of almost triumph as he pushed her gently off him and pulled her remaining garment down her legs, tossing it onto the floor, and then throwing his own aside. 

She was curious and embarassed and somewhat shocked at the sight of his manhood, large and stiff and bouncing with his movement as it was. She didn't have much opportunity to stare, though, as he lay atop her once more. 

She eagerly parted her legs for him, despite the residual shyness now that the most private part of her was revealed and opened. There was a sense of rightness about it though, to show Jack all there was of her. 

He pressed against her, his hard flesh sliding against the sickness of her surprisingly easily. This new sensation was so much she nearly choked on her own breath. He let out an uneasy sigh, hands gripping her hips as he repeated the action. 

She clung to him, pressing her tongue into his mouth, and twisted her body up to meet his. 

The longer they continued like this, the more desperate the tension between them became. 

She made a frustrated noise at the back of her throat, and he pulled back slightly to look her in the eye. 

A moment of wordless communication passed between them. With a shaky breath, he nudged her legs up and wider again as he rolled against her from a lower angle, sliding into her at last. 

She gasped and squirmed, meeting his gaze with wide eyes that begged for more. She nodded after a moment's pause that had his arms shaking as he fought for self-control. 

He began to move, pulling his hips away from hers and then pressing back in close.

The friction and the fullness and the overwhelming sensation of him moving inside her was almost too much to bear, but each slick press redoubled the feeling. 

He watched her face intently, and she looked back up into his as their desperate movements grew more rapid and frenzied.

She didn't know what expression she wore as they reached a fever pitch, but it likely matched the undone look on his face. 

And then, in a moment, they careened over some invisible edge, and she was shaking and shuddering with the feeling of it.

He held her to him so tightly it was almost painful, hiding his face in her neck as he almost vibrated with the intensity of the sensation. 

A few moments of quiet stillness, punctuated only by their loud breathing, passed lazily in their little bedroom. 

Her grip on him loosened, one hand trailing gently over his back, the other coming up to run over his silky hair.

He moved to lie more beside her than atop, pressing light kisses along her shoulder.

She laughed softly. 

"We should get up," he murmured against her skin as he worked his way up the side of her neck, littering little kisses that tickled just slightly. 

"I have so little interest in doing that, it's laughable," she answered flatly, but the corners of her mouth twisted up to hint at her good humour. 

"How about breakfast in bed?" he offered with his charming smile. 

"I should probably try to uncover your culinary secrets," she sighed. "Watch, learn, do."

He made to sit up, but she pulled him back down. He laughed. 

"Just not yet," she grinned, tilting his face with a finger so that she could press add languid kiss to his lips. "Not yet."

  
  



End file.
